


All I Want (Is To Fall With You)

by The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anne Wheeler is amazing, Asexual W.D., Because I said so thats why, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, Jenny Lind - Freeform, Lettie Lutz - Freeform, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, they just don't know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-04 09:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13361157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting/pseuds/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting
Summary: There was a time when Philip Carlyle had truly believed that he was very much in love with Anne Wheeler. But he can't keep lying to her. Or to himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look at me, ignoring all of my WIP fics again. But I can't express to you what Greatest Showman means to me already. Watching that film was the first time I smiled in a long time. I am already obsessed with the soundtrack and the film and the characters. And at the center of it all are these two idiots, who are both in canon, straight, cute AF relationships... and yet I can't stop shipping them.

There was a time when Philip Carlyle had truly believed that he was very much in love with Anne Wheeler. He met her the very first evening that he went to see the show, the day after making his deal with Barnum. Philip had been buzzing with alcohol and excitement and the promise of something new and wonderful about to unfold. He’d stepped out onto the balcony just as Anne swung towards him, the timing like fate. She’d stared out at the crowd, out at him. Their gazes had met. It had felt like she was looking into him, to the very depths of his depression and the highs of his joy in that moment, and Philip looked back into hers. He recognized the look in her eyes. The loneliness, the longing, the desire for _more_. Philip felt something twist in his stomach which had nothing to do with the drink he had consumed that evening (and for so many evenings before that). Anne had swung so close that he could even smell the faint cloy of the jasmine scent she used. Then the trapeze had reached its full swing and like the pendulum of a clock, momentum had pulled back, taking her away from Philip. For a split second, he had wanted to jump after her.

Barnum placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him back in reality. When Philip turned he could see the other man was grinning. He knew that Philip was hooked now and he was confident in a way that was bordering on smug. On anyone else, it would have been irritating. On Barnum, it just looked right; brilliance circled him until everyone around him felt caught up in it too.

 Philip wanted to shake the other man away. He wanted to rid himself of the warmth of Barnum’s hand. He longed to stay in that moment with the flying girl whose name he didn’t even know yet. Barnum had spoken about the cage Philip lived in, and the key that could set him free. Now Philip thought he had found it. He felt that he had finally found a way out. He had finally met a woman he could love.

It was not true, of course, although he did try to make it so, for a while. Anne was beautiful, hypnotic, desirable in a way no woman had been for Philip before. He had had girlfriends in the past, women he had stepped out with. He had shared kisses with girls who were more friends than anything else. He had even shared nights with women of looser morals. He had frequented several houses of ill repute, where he had tumbled with women – initially clumsily, but with increasing skill if not passion. None of them had meant to him what Anne now did. Philip tried to tell himself this was how it was meant to feel. The uncertainty, the trepidation, even the nagging doubts, all of that was normal.

 That he had to keep reminding himself of that very fact should have warned him that they were doomed from the outset.

Philip did not care one jot what other people thought of him and Anne. His parents’ disapproval made him want Anne more, if anything. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. It made him _want_ to want her more. His parents, who had so readily approved of countless pretty, forgettable women to whom he found himself acquainted could not accept the one woman he might have a chance with.

He wanted to rub their stuck up noses in how he was turning his back on their world for ever. For all his pretence with Barnum, Philip had always known that he could not fit into the life planned out for him. It was why he turned to drink. Why he rebelled from picking a safe, comfortable career and chose to write plays. Now here at last was unquestionable proof.

It was as though Philip had spent all of his life being forced into a box so small that the edges left bruises on his skin. Now he was finally escaping.

It was certainly not his parents’ reaction which drove Philip and Anne apart. Rather, it was Anne’s reaction to them, the words they exchanged afterwards. If Philip could, he would rebuild a world in which he could be with Anne. But that would involve rewriting a bigger part of himself, too. He would have tried anyway. He would have lied to himself the same way he always had done before. But he loved Anne too much to do that to her.

He loved Anne without question, but it was not Anne that he was _in_ love with. It was what she stood for. Freedom. Escape. Belonging. The possibility that things can change. She knew that. Brilliant woman that she was, she knew it before Philip would even admit it to himself. So she did the best thing she could for both of them; she walked away. And yes, it did hurt to begin with, but not in the way Philip thought it might. Losing Anne did not open up a new hole in his soul – it just uncovered an old one again instead.

Then there was the fire. And everything changed after that.

* * *

Philip could taste the fire.

It was not something people mentioned generally, when talking about fires, but it was something Philip would never forget. The smoke filled his lips like a solid object. Heat and ash seared his tongue. The taste stayed with him, repeating in his mouth every time he ate or drank for days afterwards.

The smell was almost as bad. Not even one smell, but several, the earthy woodsmoke of the burning seats mingled with the acrid, toxic fumes as the elaborately decorated staging caught the blaze. Paint peeled away in chunks, some of which took flame in the air. Even the sawdust lining the floor was burning. The whole world was given over to nothing but heat and fire and danger.

Philip was one of the last out. He had been holding back to help the others, counting heads and making sure everyone was sticking together and getting outside safely. They were all hurt, from their fight with the mob if not from the fire itself. Philip had to support Lettie, half carrying her as they made their own escape. The fresh air was so cold after the heat inside that it stung almost as bad as the flames burned. 

Then he saw W.D. and realised Anne wasn’t with him, and Philip felt as though part of him was still burning back in the building. No one had seen her. She was still in there and Philip didn’t even hesitate before going back in. How could he not go? He would have done it for any of them. But especially Anne.

He plunged back into the depiction of hell that had previously been a home to him. More than his real home, with his uptight relatives and their constrictions and rules, ever had been.  Even as he did it, he knew this was probably the last thing he would do. He was already so weak. He could barely see, could scarcely breathe. But he had to try, for Anne.

Philip bent low to the ground, staggering and stumbling as he ran. He needed to get back to the dressing rooms, back to where he had last seen Anne. He didn’t even get close. He ran up against objects unrecognizable and on fire, ducked under beams which collapsed seconds after he had passed. Still there was no sign of her. Something inside was telling him she had to be safe, she had to be (because the alternative was too awful to comprehend). But he had no way of knowing. No way of telling that she was even at that moment being cradled in W.D.’s arms. He told himself that she was a capable woman and would have made her own escape. She wouldn’t have been so foolish as to linger. But it wasn’t a risk Philip could take. So he kept searching. What was less than minuets felt like an entire lifetime spent inside the burning circus.

Something hot and heavy struck him on the shoulder blade, knocking him to the ground. He couldn’t get back up. The air burned in his lungs and when he exhaled it was with a long, feral cry of pain.

It was that cry which probably saved his life. Barnum could see no more than Philip could, but he heard that scream.

Philip was not aware of being lifted, could not later recall the feeling of those hands on him. He was only aware that some of the light was blocked out by a shadow. And then there was a familiar voice saying things he couldn’t comprehend. That Anne was safe, when he knew that she was burning. That they had to move, when he couldn’t even stand. That he needed to stay awake, when all Philip wanted to do was sleep.

Anne came to him in hospital. She sat at his bedside through the night and into the next day. When he awoke, she was the first thing Philip saw. The morning sunlight illuminated her, made her ethereal. Philip wanted to love her more at that moment than he ever had before. And it was at the exact moment that he knew for certain that he never could.

Anne did not kiss him. She held his hand and bent close to whisper to him. To an outsider, it would have looked an intimate moment, two forbidden lovers sharing secrets. The other patients, the doctors and nurses certainly muttered and tutted enough that one would have thought they were doing something scandalous. But all they did was talk. Anne told him all that had happened while he was unconscious. She told him how it was Barnum who had rescued him. She painted a picture with her words until he could almost see it: the older man emerging from the flames, cradling Philip in his arms like a precious, sacred cargo.

He whispered back to her, things he had never told anyone before. He told her the reasons he sought solace in alcohol. How he had never loved a woman, but how his head was turned by so many pretty boys in the street. How he’d never belonged anywhere until the night they met.

After the fire, Philip kept thinking back to the first night he had seen the show. It was less about Anne that he now thought, but more the feeling she had brought to life in him. That, and the memory of a hand on his shoulder, the way he could still recall the touch of each of Barnum’s fingers through his jacket.

Philip ached with regret that he had been unconscious and was now unable to memorise the way it had felt to be carried by that man.

* * *

Barnum could not give up his place in the show completely. No one had ever really believed that he would. He took a definite step back, but he was still there. He’d turn up to rehearsals with new ideas, new routines, ways to make the show bigger and better than ever.

While Philip took centre stage most nights, Barnum still lead at least one show a week, sometimes two. He’d sometimes do a weekday, and nearly always Friday, when the biggest crowds gathered, and people were most keen for a spectacle only Barnum could produce. But he was never there at the weekends, when the girls were off of school. He had his family to think of, his real family, not that of the show. This was why it was a shock when midway through a Saturday matinee performance Philip looked off stage, his attention caught by some movement there, to see Barnum. He wasn’t laughing, or smiling, or really showing any emotion at all. He was just standing, watching passively, letting the show he poured his heart into wash over him. Philip watched Barnum watching the show for long seconds before Barnum looked back at him. Their gazes met and Philip grinned, expecting to see it returned. Barnum just stepped away, further into the shadows so that his face was obscured.

Philip was so distracted that he missed his next step. He knocked into Merryn, one of the albino dancers, and had to catch her from falling. Their feet tangled together and the resulting stumble brought laughter from the audience. Philip made a show of it, staggering further and smirking to the crowd, letting them believe he was in control. The audience soon laughed with them again, not at them.

Barnum was waiting backstage after the show. He was perched atop a stack of crates like a brooding eagle clad in sharp black clothes, but as soon as the performers started to filter past he leapt down with a triumphant cry. He declared the show was looking better than ever, today’s was the best performance yet and yes, he knew he said that every night, but today he really meant it. Philip started to talk to him, to ask him why he was there, but Barnum brushed straight by him and went to help get the animals back in their cages.

He stayed all afternoon. He helped W.D. and Anne reset the ropes for their performance. He conversed at length with Lettie. He asked Mattie, the Dog Boy, about his studies. (It had been a surprise when Philip had first joined the show, to learn that Mattie’s animal act hid his intelligence. He knew several languages, loved to read, and was always looking for ways to learn, even if a traditional education was barred for him.) Phineas Barnum could not have had more time for the performers that day, but every time Philip tried to catch him in conversation, he was always suddenly and very deeply engrossed in something else.  Eventually Philip gave up and trailed back to the dressing room to get ready for that evening’s performance.

It was less than an hour before show time when Philip found himself alone backstage. The others were all elsewhere, preparing for the show in their own ways, either physically or mentally. Philip was looking into an old, cracked mirror propped up against a crate, adjusting his outfit. He reached up to straighten his top hat when someone else swiped it out of his grasp. Philip whirled round, expecting to see one of the others – probably Anne – messing around, and came face to face instead with Barnum.

The older man was dressed in his own ringmaster costume, the near double of Philip’s, and was straightening the hat on his own head.

“You can take the night off,” he said, casually.

“What?”

Barnum took advantage of Philip’s distraction and plucked the cane Philip had been loosely holding out of his hand. He gave it a little twirl and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll be taking tonight’s show.”

Philip just stared at him. “Since when?”

“Since right now. I just decided. I’ll lead the show, give you a break.”

“I don’t need a break,” Philip retorted, waspishly. He snatched the hat back off of Barnum’s head. “And you can’t just ‘decide’ to lead the show.”

“Of course I can.” Barnum made a quick movement, jerking the cane out of Philip’s reach as he made to take it back. “It’s my show, after all.”

“It’s my show?” echoed Philip. He was used to Barnum’s antics but he was becoming increasingly irritated with his friend. “We’re partners. You can’t just waltz in here, half an hour before the curtain goes up, and decide to take over the show. Do you know how much that would distract everyone else?”

Barnum swaggered closer, bending so that he was at eye level with Philip. “They’ll manage,” he said, his breath warm against Philip’s face. Then he made a grab for the top hat again.

Glaring now, and beginning to thoroughly lose his patience, Philip caught hold of the older man’s wrist to halt his movement. “Stop that! What’s gotten into you, Barnum? You’re behaving like a child.” He released Barnum fiercely and took several steps back.

Barnum looked genuinely surprised at this reaction. He raised his hands in pretence of innocence. “Hey now,” he said, soothingly, but still with that infuriating grin on his face as though all of this was highly amusing to him. “I thought you might like the rest. Just sit back for a while.”

Philip sighed heavily. “What’s wrong, Barnum?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Barnum twirled the cane idly, spinning it with one hand, throwing it and catching it, before lowering the tip to the ground again. He made a playful sweep with the cane, aiming for taking Philip’s legs out from under him. Philip jumped back of the way.

“No,” snapped Philip, his anger rising again. “No, something is wrong. You turn up mid show – completely putting me off my stride, might I add-” Barnum smirked and opened his mouth to respond. Philip talked over him, not wanting to hear whatever quick witted response he had in store. “Then you spend all afternoon avoiding me. Then you come over here just now, behaving like a child worse than usual, and say you’re ‘taking the show’. ‘Your’ show,” Philip repeated again, unable to keep the mocking sneer from his voice. “Why are you even here, Barnum? It’s the weekend. Shouldn’t you be with Charity?”

The change was instant. At the mention of Charity’s name, all of the laughter and bravado fell away from Barnum and his face paled noticeably. He was left blinking back at Philip mutely. He might have looked less appalled if someone had been shot. But then he shook his head, like shaking off water and his bad thoughts with it. He did his best to hide the moment with a grin. “I just felt like running my own show tonight, that’s all.”

Philip wasn’t buying it. “Something’s happened.” His anger was gone, replaced with only concern for his friend.  “What is it? Is something wrong with Charity? With the girls? Is one of them sick?” Philip could feel panic rising in his own chest at the thought.

“No,” said Barnum, although he had if possible gone even whiter, his face a mask of tension. “No Charity and the girls are well. Do you really think I would be here if one of them was sick?”

“Of course not.” Philip had often seen the lion tamer, Leona, coax a cornered big cat back into its cage without a drop of blood being spilled. He realised he was affecting her mannerisms now, slowly stepping forwards, his voice gentle and even. “But something is wrong. Tell me what happened.”

 Far from taking kindly to Philip’s efforts, Phineas growled, not unlike one of the lions in that moment.  “Forget it. Forget about the show,” he all but spat. “You do it. I don’t even know why I came here.” With that, he threw the cane down at Philip’s feet, turned smartly on his heel and began to stride away.

Philip gave chase. He took off the dratted hat and cast it aside as he ran after his friend. With a slick move that came from practiced routines in the ring, he ducked under Barnum’s arm and stood in front of him, blocking his route.

“Stop!” Philip held Phineas’ arms as he tried to push past and the two struggled. It looked like it might become a real fight between the pair.  “I’m not letting you walk out of here, Barnum . Not like this,” said Philip through clenched teeth. “You’re going to tell me what’s wrong right now.”

“Nothing is wrong!” Barnum shouted back, trying to tug himself free. He was stronger than Philip and if he had not been so distracted there would have been no real contest. As it was, he could barely look Philip in the eye, let alone fight him properly. “There is nothing to speak of. I am just... just...”

As suddenly as it had done before, the man’s energy left him. He slumped again and after hesitating, to make sure it was not a feint, Philip released him. He watched as Barnum stumbled in an apparent daze over to a box of props. The older man sat down heavily and rested his head in his hands.

Philip edged closer to him once more, kneeling in front of him. “Phineas?” he asked, using the other man’s first name as he so rarely did. “Please.”

Phineas let his hands drop slightly, so they were only covering his mouth. It was hard to tell in the gloom of the backstage tent, but Philip was sure there were tears in his eyes. He cast his gaze around, checking that their fighting hadn’t brought any of the other performers to see what was going on.

They were still very much alone.

“Charity and I,” Phineas began after what seemed to be an age had passed, “are no longer together.”

“What?” Philip felt numb. Of all the things he had been expecting... this was not one of them.

“We are no longer together.” It didn’t sound any better the more Barnum repeated it. “We are to no longer to be as husband and wife. We are... We are...” The man who could talk and charm his way out of any situation was lost for words.

Philip was desperate to soothe him. Before he could stop himself, he reached one hand out and rested it on Barnum’s knee in what he hoped would be an innocently friendly reassurance.

“Sshh,” he whispered, unsure of what else he could do. “Ssh. It can’t be so. You and Charity... you can see through anything together.”

“Apparently not.” Phineas laughed bitterly, ending in what was nearly a sob. “I don’t know why I am acting this way,” he admitted. “It was me who suggested the break. It is my fault. Charity is still the same as she always was. She’s still kind and beautiful and _loyal_.  It’s me who’s... who’s...” Again he was unable to finish his sentence.

“Why would you suggest such a thing?” Philip didn’t mean to sound shocked, or accusatory, but he couldn’t help it. The idea of Charity and P.T. Barnum no longer being a couple was ludicrous. That Phineas had been the one to initiate it... a man might as well have just walked on the moon.

Phineas shrugged, dismally. “Truthfully part of me still doesn’t know. I have spent all my life dedicated to a life with Charity. Why now? Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut and carry on as I have been doing?”

Philip shook his head. “Why?” he echoed in a half whisper.

“Because,” Phineas said, speaking clearer than he had all night, “because I love Charity and I no longer wish to lie to her. I love her, but I do not... desire her. It is not the love a man should feel for his wife. I do not believe it ever truly has been, although Lord knows I tried to tell myself that it was.”

Philip let the words wash over him, their full meaning sinking in moment by moment. His relationship, if you could call it that, with Anne came vividly to his mind. “You love her,” he stated, “But you are not _in_ love with her.” 

Phineas nodded and let his hands drop from his face. He rested his arms along his thighs. Without Philip noticing, his left hand had been rubbing at Barnum’s knee where he had placed it. Now Barnum’s fingertips brushed against his and both men startled back, Philip looking away to hide the fact he was blushing ever so slightly. 

“How long?” he asked, to cover the moment. “How long have you known that you felt this way?” 

Barnum gestured sweepingly, vaguely. “I cannot say. Perhaps I always have known but now, things are different. Things are brought to the fore now and I cannot keep up this pretence.”

Philip waited for Barnum to explain. When he didn’t, he nudged gently again. “What has changed now, to make things so very different?”

“It is simple,” said Barnum, although Philip knew that there was nothing simple about it. “I have met someone who I believe I am in love with.”

Philip didn’t know why those words stung. He had begun to admit to himself in his most secret moments that he was... smitten with Barnum. But that was no reason to hope or to expect. It was not like he could have charmed Phineas into reciprocating his feelings. He was truthfully still a child if he allowed himself to still give rise to such fantasies.

He took a deep breath, and moved on from whatever strange moment that was. “And so have you spoken to Miss Lind?” he enquired, trying to be supportive.

Barnum looked at Philip as though the younger man had just sprouted feathers instead of hair. In fact, given the company that they kept, he probably would have regarded Philip less strangely if that had been the case. “Miss Lind?” He laughed then, a true Barnum laugh for the first time that evening. “No, Philip. It is not _Miss Lind_ that I feel for. I have not spoken to her in months. Not since the tour. Not since she forced that dreaded kiss upon me. Lord, if only it _were_ that simple.”

Philip couldn’t help but smile back. It was a relief to know that it was not that woman who came between Barnum and his wife.

The mirth died on Barnum’s face as he looked at Philip. “I almost wish it was. A beautiful, talented woman like Jenny. People would understand that. It would be a scandal, a man leaving his wife to run off with a singer, but people would understand at least.” He ran his fingers viciously through his hair and then got to his feet so suddenly that he knocked Philip backwards. Barnum didn’t even seem to notice, too caught up in his own despair. “Turns out the biggest freak in this whole circus might just be the ringmaster himself,” he muttered.

Philip scrambled to his feet, trying to look at least somewhat dignified. “Don’t call them that,” he berated. The word got under his skin more and more the longer he was with the circus. “That’s what those thugs who stand outside the tent call them. What they shouted when they burnt down our old home.”  He contemplated Barnum’s words, and came to a sudden realisation. “It’s one of them. That’s it, isn’t it? You think you’ll be considered a... a freak, because you love one of them.”

Barnum said nothing. His silence was as loud as any confirmation.

Now they were clearly playing a guessing game. “Not Anne,” he said almost instantly. It wasn’t a question. He would _know_ if it was Anne.

“No,” Barnum reassured him. “I wouldn’t do that to you. To either of you.”

“Lettie?” She had been one of the first to sign up for Barnum’s show, and Philip knew that the two were close. They spoke to each other on even terms and she had been one of the first to comfort him after the fire, and to call him out when his self importance expanded even further than normal.

Barnum smiled fondly. He did not seem to think the idea of loving Lettie was something to laugh at. But when he replied he simply said, “Not Lettie.”

Philip thought again. He thought about Merryn and Leona, about Crystal with her dark skin and ice blue eyes. He thought about all of the women in the show. He couldn’t picture Barnum with any one of them. “Then who?”

Barnum at last looked at him again. Raw vulnerability poured out of the man normally so confident and sure. “Oh Philip,” he said. Something fluttered inside of Philip’s chest at hearing his name said like that by Barnum, softly, almost reverently. “It’s not Anne, or Lettie, or any of the other women here. I would not consider myself a freak for loving any of them. But I do not.” He swallowed thickly. “Not any woman at all.” 

Those words sat between the two men like a live creature. They buzzed in Philip’s brain. He found himself swallowing too, needing to clear a sudden blockage in his throat. “Not any _woman_ ,” he repeated.

“That’s what I have been trying to tell you. I do not, I cannot, love any woman as a man should.” Phineas walked closer to where Philip stood.

“But somebody else.” Barnum nodded. “A man.”

“Starting to catch on now, are we?” Barnum said bitterly.  He was back in front of Philip now, so near that the younger man could see nothing else.

“Wh-” Philip started to ask once more but Barnum cut him off by raising one hand and gently touching the edge of Philip’s mouth with his thumb. 

“Don’t ask me who, Philip. Please, just for this moment, don’t.”

They were much too close. Then they were closer still. Phineas leant in and pressed his lips against Philip’s.

Philip had thought about kissing the showman. He had fantasised about it some nights alone in his bed. He had touched himself to the idea of passion and power. He had pictured the slide of lips against his, licking, biting, hands grabbing. This was nothing like his imaginings. There was hardly any movement at all. It was soft, tentative, more just the placement of one mouth against another. Philip couldn’t even reciprocate. He just let it happen. Then Barnum’s hand moved to the back of Philip’s neck, fingers brushing through his hair and Philip let out a soft, breathy gasp.

That small sound was enough to break Barnum out of the trance Philip’s lips had seemingly put him into. He jumped back as though scalded, looking appalled.

 _Was it that bad?_ Philip thought.

“I...I am so sorry,” stammered Barnum. Before Philip could say anything, he had turned and began to leave at almost a run.

Philip’s legs were so weak he felt unable to move but as Barnum disappeared through a flap in the tent Philip at last broke free and gave chase once more.

“Wait!” he yelled as he pushed through the flap after Barnum. He was greeted with a wall of people. The other performers were now ready for the show and were milling about outside, waiting for their cue to get back stage.

“Watch where you’re going, Carlyle,” said Charles, who Philip had nearly tripped over. 

Philip didn’t have time to apologise. “Where is he?” he asked. “Where did he go?”

“If you mean ringleader number one, he went that way.” Charles pointed in one direction.  “What’s the rush with you two, anyway?”

Philip didn’t answer. He just ran in the direction of a hastily retreating figure in the dark. As they rounded the corner of the tent, both men had to slow their pace. There were members of the public here, queuing up ready to take their seats. People nudged each other, pointing and looking with clear curiosity at the sudden appearance of the two men. Philip ignored them. He caught up with Barnum and managed to grab the sleeve of his jacket. It was pulled swiftly out of his reach as Barnum carried on walking without a backwards glance. People were really staring now. Some watched as though presuming this was part of the performance. Philip stopped chasing but gave up on caution.

“Phineas,” he called. His voice was unexpectedly hoarse. “Phin.”

It was nearly enough to stop Barnum. That casual use of his name again. He paused in his stride, for a second looked like he might turn and face Philip, face whatever it was that he had started. But then he set his shoulders firmly and walked off into the crowd, until he was out of sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just one of the rapidly growing plot ideas I have for these two, so if I'm doing something you like, let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few IMPORTANT NOTES before we kick off.   
> 1\. I was using Charles' stage name towards the end of the last chapter. I have since changed my mind about this and reverted to using his given name. I hope this isn't too jarring for anyone.  
> 2\. I am sorry, this isn't the full second half. I've increased the chapter count to three and hopefully that's where it will stay. This part just really got away from me. No smut this time, I'm afraid, just a little more plot and pining, and serious discussions.   
> 3\. YOU GUYS! The response I've had to this fic has been completely overwhelming. I have run out of ways to say thank you so know this; every comment and kudos means the absolute world to me. I am sorry if I have let any of you down by not bringing you the rest of the fic today.

Philip did not know how he made it through that night’s performance. It passed by in a haze he could not recall a second of later. He relied on his body’s muscle memory to get him through the routines, and had to trust his voice to continue without breaking. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, to sing, to call to the audience, he remembered how Barnum’s lips had felt against his. He remembered warm, gentle pressure. The other man’s lips had been ever so slightly rough and chapped, the faintest hint of stubble brushing against Phillip’s face. He could still feel that hand at the back of his neck which had been pulling him closer, edging towards something more. 

Somehow he got through the show. Then he got drunk. He got really, blindingly, catatonically drunk. More drunk than he had been in months. The hangover the next day was among the worst he could recall having. It was not aided by the fact that he woke up face down on the bar, suddenly soaking wet and freezing cold. He spluttered on a mouthful of water and looked around blearily. The first person he saw was Charles, who was sat on the bar in front of him. Still not making sense of the world, Philip looked around and saw O’Clancy and James stood to the side. James was holding an empty bucket in one hand. That explained the sudden awakening.

At least the Irish Giant and the Heaviest Man in World looked a little guilty. Charles had no such remorse.  “Thanks for the help, boys,” he said, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Philip groaned and lowered his head to the bar once again.

“Oh no you don’t.” Charles gave Philip’s head a shove with his foot. Not a very gentle shove either.  “Wakey wakey, Philly-boy.” Philip ignored him.

“We’ve been given permission to carry you, or drag you, if you don’t come easily,” James warned. That got Philip to sit up again, wincing at the movement and the light. Why did daytime have to be so bright?

“Permission from who?” Philip asked. For a brief second he wondered if Barnum had sent them. The idea of Barnum being concerned for Philip’s whereabouts, wanting him back, was certainly appealing. It was unlikely though. Philip could still regrettably remember yesterday, Barnum storming off into the night, the horrified look in his eyes before he left.

 “From the rest of the team,” answered O’Clancy, putting that idea to rest once and for all.

“We’re not going to leave you to fester in a bar for the rest of the day,” said Charles. He sounded a little gentler now. “Come on, we need our ringleader back.”  The small man hid behind bluster and harsh words, a larger than life personality to make up for what he lacked in height. His kindness and affection were only reserved for those closest to him.

Philip groaned again but let James slip an arm around his waist and haul him off of the stool and onto his feet. Philip staggered and had to lean heavily on the other man. It was only what remained of his pride that stopped him from giving in to the previous threat of being carried.

“Let’s get you home,” said James, taking his weight easily.

Philip felt sick to his stomach.  He just hoped he would be able to make it back without vomiting all over his friends.

* * *

It was Sunday, a rest day, so most of the performers were elsewhere when Philip and his escorts made it back the circus. Philip retreated to the backstage caravan he had taken as his office and crashed down onto the bed he kept there.

He was woken up some time later by Lettie pushing him onto his side, to stop him from choking on his own vomit. She looked down at him with a sad frown. It made her look like a worried mother. Not that he could ever recall his own mother looking at him with such concern – disapproval, maybe.

“You were doing so well,” said Lettie, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. “You haven’t touched alcohol in weeks. What happened, Philip?”

Philip was reminded viciously of the previous night, when he asked Barnum again and again what had happened to upset him so much. Philip pulled the thin blanket up over his head to avoid giving an answer, and eventually heard Lettie leave. He didn’t get back to sleep after that. Guilt stabbed at him.

* * *

Barnum didn’t show up the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Philip didn’t get drunk again, but it was a battle. The urge to drink, to get out of his own mind for a little while, was a palpable object he carried around with him as the days passed. Instead, he threw himself into the show, sang louder on stage, joked more, laughed harder. He practiced more hours than anyone else, and it was only partly because he hoped that at any moment Barnum might walk into the tent, and he wanted to be there when he did.

A full week went by and as Saturday rolled around again there was still no sign of Barnum. No one else seemed remotely concerned by this. They were all used to the showman’s reliability – or lack of it. They were in agreement that he’d show up whenever he was ready to. When he got down from whatever high horse he had levered himself onto now.

But, Philip thought bitterly, they didn’t know the reason Phineas had left. Barnum hadn’t kissed any of them. He hadn’t looked at them the way he looked at Philip before he ran out.

The evening show ran without a hitch and ended with its usual bang. Philip performed his role as host and master of ceremonies as enthusiastically as ever, mingling with the crowd afterwards, and if he was perhaps ushering people towards the exit quicker than usual, no one was to know.

After the audience had left, Philip sat down halfway up the tiered seats. He was glad to be alone. Anne knew there was something wrong. They all did, probably, but she was the only one to try and confront him about it. Several times throughout that week, she had tried to get him to talk, or to get him alone so that she could question him. Philip dodged her every time. He was acting like Barnum again.  

Head resting in one hand, he watched the stage below. Under normal circumstances he would have roared with laughter at the sight that met him. Anne had lowered her hoop to only a few feet off of the ground and, under her watchful eye, Mattie was swinging from it trying to imitate one of her elaborate moves. As Philip watched, the boy managed to hook his legs over the top of the hoop and flip upside down. He didn’t seem to know where to go from there though and hollered as the hoop started to spin slowly with his weight. Anne was too busy giggling at his predicament to be of much assistance and James, who was supposed to be spotting for them, was helpless. Their raucous laughter and Mattie’s continued shouts of protest filled the tent.

Somebody sat down heavily next to Philip.

“I saw,” said W.D., swinging his legs onto the back of the seat in front.

“Feet off the seats,” said Philip automatically. “I don’t let the customers do it; I don’t expect it from you.”

W.D. didn’t budge and just smirked at him. “Yeah but I’m not a customer. And like I said, I saw.”

“Saw what?” Philip asked, turning back to watch Anne untangling Mattie.

“What happened last week, between you and Barnum.”

An icy hand gripped at Philip’s insides. He fought to control his features, was acutely aware of W.D.’s gaze on him. _Don’t give him a reaction,_ he told himself. _Don’t show that you’re scared._

“Nothing happened between us,” he said after a pause that was far too long. “There was nothing to see.”

“Maybe not as much as you were hoping for, I’ll give you that.” W.D. crossed one leg other the other, completely at ease. He was out of costume but his feet were still bare, wrapped only in the strips of cloth he and Anne used for their performances. Philip thought he could count only a handful of times that he’d seen W.D. wear shoes.

“Look,” started Philip, not daring to look fully at W.D. but not knowing where else to look either, “I don’t know what you think you saw-”

“I don’t think, I know,” corrected W.D. “I was right above you.” He gestured above them to the beams that lined the inside of the tent. “I was setting up for the show and I heard all the shouting so I stayed up there and moved along to see what all the fuss was about. So I saw. You kissed.”

With all the commotion still going on down in the ring, there really was no chance of them being overheard, but Philip had clearly been wrong when he thought that before. He cast scared, quick little glances around them but all of the lingering performers were occupied totally by Mattie and Anne.

The only person watching Philip was W.D., smirking all over his face. There really was no point in hiding it now.  Philip sat up straighter and turned to face the relaxed man next to him. “Yeah, all right,” he admitted. “We kissed. What do you want to do about it?”

They’d been on much better terms lately but in that moment Philip was ready to fight W.D. He would have welcomed it, in fact. Getting in a few good punches – and getting a few back in return – might just prove an excellent stress reliever. It had in the past.

“Hey, hey,” said W.D., defensively. His eyes flickered from Philip’s scowl to his clenched fists.  “None of that. I’m not going to cause trouble for you, kid.”

“Y-you’re not?” Philip was so startled he didn’t even get angry about the ‘kid’ comment. He could just about stomach it from Barnum but W.D. was only a few years older than him.

“Nah.” W.D. waved him off in dismissal.

Philip licked his lips and opened his mouth a few times, trying to get words to form. “You don’t seem very shocked about this,” he said eventually.

“That’s because I’m not,” W.D. admitted. “I’ve known for a while now how you feel about him.”

“You have?” Philip’s voice had slipped up several notes higher than usual and was much louder than he intended. It was a good thing that at that exact moment Mattie, now right way up again, attempted to get his feet on the bottom rung of the hoop and fell backwards. He was unhurt but landed on his ass with a yelp. The laughter renewed twice as loudly as before, drowning out Philip’s exclamation.

W.D. just nodded at him with a grin.

Philip slumped in his chair. “Is it obvious?”

“Only if you know what to look for. There are little tells. The way you look at him when you think no one can see, the way you move around him, so careful about any causal touch...” W.D. trailed off, still grinning. “Besides, Anne talks to me.”

“About this?” Philip asked wearily.

“About everything. We don’t have secrets from each other. Now you don’t either.”

Philip groaned and let his head flop backwards. He stared up at the striped canopy above. “Why are you even talking to me? Shouldn’t you be running for the hills, or the police? At the very least, the newspapers? Aren’t you supposed to be disgusted to even be sitting next to a man like me? You don’t even like me.”

“I like you a lot better now that you have stopped courting my sister.” W.D. dug him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. “You are a rich, white man who desired a black woman. I had every reason to suspect that you might behave less than honourably. At least now I do not have to worry about that.” Philip groaned again. “And as for being disgusted, look around you, Carlyle. I live as part of a group of oddities and curiosities, people children run from in the street.” He hesitated briefly, as though taking in his own words. “And I love them all. One man loving another man doesn’t seem like such a strange thing, after that.” W.D. at last swung his feet to the floor and sat up properly. He lightly touched Philip’s elbow. Philip sat up too, allowing the other man to look him right in the eye as he continued, “No one here is going to judge you, Carlyle – I least of all.”

Philip was left dazed at this sudden sentiment and at the last words in particular. “You too?” he asked, incredulously. Did anyone in this circus actually like women?

W.D. chuckled his deep, baritone laugh. “Not quite.” His smile faltered.”I do not... feel attraction towards women. But I do not towards men either. I have never desired a person. I do not believe I am capable of it.”

“Oh,” murmured Philip. “Do you... not wish to?”

“It is not a case of wishing or wanting,” explained W.D. “I have never felt the urge to lay with another, male or female. I have never wanted to so much as kiss them. The thought sickens me a little, if I am to be honest.”

“Oh,” said Philip again. There was not a great deal he could say to that.

“So there you have it,” said W.D. “Now you know a secret about me too. And you know that I will not shun you for yours.” He sat back, at ease once more. Philip could feel tension draining out of his own body.

“Now,” said W.D. after a while, “we just have to sort out what we are going to do about you and Barnum.”

“There is nothing to ‘do’ about us,” sighed Philip. “There is not even an ‘us’ to speak of. I think he made his feelings quite clear.”

“Oh yes.” W.D. nodded, mockingly serious. “That kiss really did wash his hands of the matter.” He shoved Philip, ignoring his glaring. “I care about you, like I said. I don’t like to see you pining like this. You are enamoured with him. Now we can safely say he is with you also.”

Philip snorted. “I don’t think so.”

“Were you not listening to what he told you? He left his wife because he loves another. A man. And then he kisses you. Do you need it spelling out any clearer?”

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He was... appalled.”

“I wouldn’t say appalled,” W.D. interjected. “Surprised at his own daring, perhaps.”

“He ran out of here as though the devil himself was after him.”

“Because,” said W.D., as though Philip had taken leave of his senses, “he probably thought you were disgusted with him. You didn’t exactly give him much indication of enjoying it.”

“That was because I was shocked. Not because I didn’t want it.”

“I know that.” W.D. shook his head despairingly. “You’re both idiots. You need to go and talk to him.”

“Do you think that’s really such a good idea?” It wasn’t as if the thought was entirely new to Philip. He had debated the issue with himself several times throughout the week. But every time he did, he remembered the look of horror in Phineas’ eyes.

“It’s a better idea than just moping around here,” said W.D. with a shrug. “It’s Barnum. He’s stubborn and he’s proud. If we wait for him to come to you, we could be a while, and nothing is going to get better for either of you in the meantime. The show’s going to keep going downhill.”

“The show has been doing fine!” Philip protested.

W.D. ignored him. “Go to him, Carlyle. Tomorrow. I would say go now if you hadn’t just missed the last train.”

Philip could tell that W.D. wasn’t going to take a no, or even a vague dismissal. “If I say yes, will you drop the subject?”

“Only if you actually do go. If not, I’ll come back. And I’ll get Anne involved next time, too.”

“All right, all right, I’ll go,” said Philip, because if that wasn’t a threat he didn’t know what was. Being nagged at by one of the siblings was bad enough. Together they’d be unstoppable.

With the matter settled, W.D. got sharply to his feet.  “Excellent. Tomorrow,” he reminded Philip and waited until Philip grunted an affirmative in return before turning and walking away.

Philip got to his feet too. He couldn’t put a name to the new feeling he was experiencing. It wasn’t hope, nothing as strong as that, but perhaps it was the potential for hope where none had existed before. He felt lighter at least, in the way that talking to another person was said to help with so many things.

“Hey, Carlyle.”

Philip looked up. W.D. hadn’t left. He was standing a little further along the row of seats. His shoulders were hunched in a way they had not been before. He looked awkward for the first time that evening, but still looked right at Philip as he spoke.

“If you hadn’t wanted it, I would have stopped him.”  

Something stuck inside of Philip’s mouth. He thought about the night of the fire, when W.D. had been by his side, had been the one to throw a punch when Philip was threatened. There was a long pause before he said, simply, quietly, “I know.”

W.D. shifted his weight, kicking a stray peanut shell with the side of his foot. “If he hurts you, you let me know.”

Philip knew he would not need to let W.D. know. Barnum’s absence had hurt him. His leaving and his perceived rejection had hurt Philip, but he knew that Phineas would never knowingly hurt him. He wouldn’t need the protection W.D. was so openly offering him, but he couldn’t think of a way to articulate that which didn’t sound like a rejection. W.D. and Anne came from a world where hurt was something that happened all too often. Instead of talking, Philip just nodded and watched as W.D. walked away fully this time, vaulting the last row of seats to join his sister in the circus ring.

“Anne, whatever you’re doing to that poor boy, leave him alone!”

Philip snorted. It was very funny, really.

He watched for a few more minutes before slipping away.

* * *

Philip did in fact already have plans for the next day. Lettie and some of the others still felt the need for protection when they ventured outside the safety the stage and a rapt audience offered them and Philip had agreed to escort them on their day off. But he spoke to James and again, somewhat awkwardly, to W.D. and they both readily agreed to take his place. So Philip was out of excuses.

The journey to where the Barnums lived took a couple of hours. It gave him plenty of time to think, to contemplate, to doubt. Yet, he arrived more sure than he had been when he left the city. Rather than take a carriage, he chose to walk from the station. He needed to burn off some of the nervous energy he had gained from all that time sat still.

Philip had been invited to the Barnums’ home many times but had rarely accepted. Each time he did accept, Charity had been thrilled to have him there and had spent hours engaging him in conversation, insisting he had third helpings of dinner, trying to coax more information on his and Anne’s relationship out of him. Philip had spent all those evenings with Charity, glancing over at Phineas and feeling that shame would rip him apart from the inside. Now he wondered how many of those evenings Phineas might have been glancing at him, thinking the exact same thing. He put those thoughts out of his mind as he walked up the long path to Barnum’s front door. Charity and Phineas were no longer together. As much as that still seemed unreal, as much as the idea still hurt, it meant that if anything were to happen, there would be no deception.  There was, if not no need, then at least less need for him to feel like he was betraying Charity’s trust.

At the door, Philip paused. He straightened his jacket self consciously. He stooped to glance in the window, peering at his reflection. Finally he removed his hat, tucked it under his arm and, after one final attempt to straighten his hair, he rang the bell.

The door swung inwards almost instantly. It was so quick that Philip knew that someone had been waiting on the other side of the door, had been watching probably as he walked all the way up the drive. He couldn’t stop the grin which crept onto his face.

It died quickly when he saw who had opened the door.

“Hello, Philip,” said Charity. She stood, framed in the gap of the open door, the sunlight in her eyes making her squint just a little. Her voice was not harsh, but it was cooler than Philip had ever heard it before.

Forgetting all previous notions about not needing to feel guilty, Philip’s heart leapt into his throat. He had not been prepared to face Charity today. She was not smiling at him. She looked as though she had perhaps not smiled in several days. Her hand was braced on the door and Philip would not have protested if she had slammed it in his face. Instead she gave him a long, searching glance then stepped back, opening the door fully.

“You should come in,” she said and Philip stumbled across the threshold before she could change her mind.

With the door shut behind them, the hallway was cool and quiet. Philip knew it had taken the family a while to buy the house back. Months later and it were as though they had never left. Helen’s dollhouse stood where it always had. Four coats, two big and two small, hung on the stand beside the door. Philip hung up his hat beside them, but didn’t remove his coat. It would have felt too presumptions when Charity could ask him to leave again at any time.

“I take it you were not expecting to see me here,” said Charity, drawing his attention back to her. She was wearing a dress in her favourite pale blue, her hair tied back loosely with a matching ribbon.

“Perhaps a little,” Philip admitted. There was no sense, no rightness in lying to her.

“Where else would I be? This is my home. Our home.”

“Of course.” Philip felt stupid for assuming anything else. “Is Phineas... living elsewhere?”  

“This is _our_ home,” Charity emphasised again. “Phineas is still living here. He will continue to live here, as will I, for as long as out arrangement continues to work for both of us. You can go to him in a moment. I think we have a few matters that need to be cleared up first.”

Philip murmured agreement and Charity drew closer to him. She was holding herself stiffly, properly. Years of finishing school training were evident in the placement of every part of her body.  She had started to speak when a shriek sounded from behind her.

“Philip! You’re here!”  

Philip just had time to brace himself before Caroline and Helen flung themselves at him.

Charity’s demeanour changed at once. She took a step back from Philip and her whole face lit up in amusement, even as she admonished, “Girls! Be careful of Philip!”

“It’s alright,” said Philip. “Hello, girls.”

“Philip, we haven’t seen you in so long!” said Helen, ecstatically. “We’ve missed you.”

 “I’ve missed you too.” Philip allowed the younger girl to climb all over him while returned the hug Caroline was giving him. Her skinny arms clung to his waist as she stared up at him.

“You missed my last dance show,” she declared, solemnly.

“I know. I’m sorry. I thought this might make it up to you.” He dug in his coat pocket – not an easy task with Helen clinging to his back like a monkey – and took out a box wrapped in thin, pink paper. 

“Chocolates!” squealed Caroline, her show apparently forgotten. “Can I have one now?”

“That’s really up to your mother.” Philip glanced quickly to Charity who, watching the trio together, simply nodded. Caroline tore open the paper as delicately as her excitement would allow.

She thanked Philip thickly through a mouthful of chocolate and then, giggling, fed one to Helen over his shoulder. Philip opened his mouth like a baby bird and Caroline giggled all the more as she fed him one of the chocolates too.

“Are you here to see my daddy?” she asked, wiping her fingertips on the edge of the pink paper. Philip hoped his expression didn’t falter.

“I do have certain matters I need to discuss with him. Very boring, I know. I’d rather stay and play with you two.”

“He’s upstairs. He hasn’t been down all day.” Philip’s insides did a little lurch at this news and didn’t trust himself to reply.

“Mummy says he’s being a grumpy old man this week,” Helen whispered into Philip’s ear. “She says we’re to just ignore him when he gets like this.”

“That’s... probably sound advice.”

“Girls,” said Charity, quickly diverting the subject away from Phineas, “why don’t you take what’s left of those chocolates to the kitchen for later? I am sure Philip will be able to spend more time with you once his business has been attended to.”

Helen whined and clung on tighter.

“Don’t worry,” Philip reassured her, “I’ll come and look for you later. I wouldn’t come all this way without spending time with my two favourite ladies.”

“I thought Anne was your favourite lady,” said Caroline innocently, but with a little smirk playing at the edges of her mouth. Philip gave Helen’s hands a little squeeze, encouraging her to losing her grip and slither to the floor.

He gathered the girls close to him and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Do you want to know a secret?” They both nodded eagerly. “Anne’s only number two on the list. You both take first place.”

Caroline gasped and blushed pink.

Helen just smirked and nudged her sister. “I told you so.”

After a final hug from Caroline, still blushing furiously, and Helen going on tiptoe to plant a sloppy kiss on Philip’s cheek, the girls finally left. They were still nudging and shoving at each other and their laughter echoed after them as they left the hallway.

Charity was smiling fondly, still watching the spot where her daughters had disappeared from sight. “Caroline told her teacher at school that she is going to marry you one day.”

Philip smiled at this news, despite the tension between himself and Charity. “Oh she did, did she?”

“Yes,” Charity replied lightly. “We didn’t correct her. It never hurts a girl to dream, after all.”

“Quite right.” Philip longed for this to continue. He wanted to stay in this moment with Charity where everything was as it had always been, where they could talk normally and freely about the girls, about the show, about anything at all. But then Charity at last looked back to him, and the moment was broken.

“They don’t know.” Charity’s voice was suddenly serious. “We decided against it and I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell them either.”

“I wouldn’t,” Philip replied. He was shocked that Charity would feel the need to ask.

“We didn’t see the point in upsetting them,” she explained. “Or in inviting the scandal of Phineas and I separating publicly.”

“Very wise.”

 Charity’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m glad you agree, Philip. You do know that it would be a scandal, then? That there would be talk, rumours, even if we did not reveal the reason for our separation?”

“Of course I know that.”

“Good.” Charity moved as if to straighten her skirt then, finding it already crease-free, clasped her hands in front of herself. It was a small nervous movement, one of the only outward tells of how much this was affecting her. “My father would have been unbearable. I’d keep it a secret if for no other reason than to not see him satisfied. No,” she continued. “We are to remain living together, and to raise our daughters together. To all appearances we will still be as husband and wife. We are still husband and wife,” she clarified. “And, frankly, what does or does not happen between a man and a woman in the privacy of their own bedroom is no one’s business but their own.”  Her voice had grown fierce and defiant as she spoke. It was as though she was expecting a crowd of onlookers to question her decision making. Philip certainly wasn’t going to be one of them.

“You’ve thought this through a lot,” he ventured. “I hope you don’t mind me saying... you don’t seem terribly shocked by this.”

“Do I not?” Charity’s voice shook slightly for the first time, although from emotion or amusement at the notion, Philip could not tell. “Perhaps that is because when you have spent your entire life loving a person, you find there is very little they could do which would shock you.”  Her mouth set into a thin, firm line, a sad imitation of a smile. “I do love Phineas.”

“He loves you too,” said Philip, quickly. It was clearly not the right thing to say.

“I do not need you to-” Charity began to speak angrily before catching herself. She took a deep breath to sooth her sudden temper before continuing in the same even tone as before. “I know that Phineas loves me. I do not need you, or anyone, to tell me that.”

“I’m sorry, it was foolish of me,” Philip apologised. He was stumbling over the words, simple though they were.  

Charity waved one hand lightly as though batting his apology away, unneeded. She began to walk away and for a moment Philip feared he had offended her so much that she was leaving, that she could no longer stand to be in the same room as him. Instead she paced over to the stairs and sat down on the third step, smoothing her skirt underneath her. One foot tapped at the floor with unspent anxiety a few times before she looked up at Philip again. She tilted her head at the space beside her. Philip recognized it as an unspoken summons to sit, and obeyed without having to be asked aloud.

“I shouldn’t have snapped,” Charity said once Philip was sat beside her. “This isn’t your fault, Philip. You’re not the reason Phineas feels... you are not the reason he’s...” she trailed off, apparently unable to put into words what Phineas was. “He’s always been this way, I think. He always told me that I was the first woman, the only woman that he ever felt anything for. I thought it was flattery. Now I realise he was maybe trying to tell me something else, even if he didn’t know he was telling me.” Her foot was tapping again. The repetitive noise was harsh in the otherwise hushed hallway. They could no longer hear Caroline and Helen, their play having taken them further into the house.

“Things have not been right for a long time,” Charity continued. “Not since the tour with that woman. We separated for a while, after he got back. Did you know that?” Philip did know, but he sensed the question was rhetorical.  “When we reunited I thought things would go back to normal but it never did. We’d never been apart like that before, not since the day I left my father’s house. That tour and then the time afterwards, it gave Phineas the time to think. It gave us both the time to think and we both knew that something wasn’t right. Now we both know what it was.” Charity’s voice became choked and brittle, leaving Philip mortified and unsure what to do. He raised one hand tentatively, fully expecting it to be knocked away at any second, gently placed an arm around her. He was surprised, and relieved, when she leant into the touch. She rested her head on his fingertips.

“I thought things would be better, now that things are open between us,” she murmured. Philip could feel the edge of her lip moving against his hand as she spoke.  “Not this.” She gestured towards the ceiling, undoubtedly towards the room where Phineas was sitting alone. Charity wiped at her face and turned, Philip’s arm still around her, to talk to him again. “What happened between the two of you?”

“I don’t think you really want me to answer that,” said Philip, shakily.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

The truth was he didn’t want to tell her but he didn’t feel like he could deny her the truth either. He took a deep breath and braced himself for whatever was to come. “We kissed.”

He was surprised to see Charity smile, just faintly. “And?” she asked after a pause.

“And he left. He ran out. Came back here, I suppose.”

Charity made a frustrated noise in her throat. “I thought maybe you talked. I thought maybe you told him that you were not... inclined that way.”

“No,” said Philip, very firmly. “He left before I had the chance to say anything at all.”

Charity laughed then, small and stifled, but still laughing. She looked very much like her daughters. She hid it with her fingers and when she moved her hand back again she looked solemn once more. She gently but firmly removed Philip’s arm from around her shoulders and got to her feet. “You should speak to him.” Philip hesitated, looking up at her. “Go on.” She gestured towards the stairs. “Maybe you’ll actually talk to each other this time, like adults. At the very least, he can hardly run out on you in his own home.”

Philip got to his feet. He felt weakened. The strength he had gathered on the way here had left him. “Are you sure?”

Charity shrugged. “As I’ll ever be. If you are looking for my approval or my blessing or my turning a blind eye, this is it. This is as much as I can give you right now.”

It was more than Philip ever would have asked of her. Slowly, carefully, without daring to look back at her, Philip began to walk up the stairs. He was half way up when Charity’s voice stopped him again.

“It will not last.” She did not sound cruel, or harsh. If anything, she sounded resigned. “Not because you are a man, or because I think he will come back to me. Because I no longer think Phineas can love anyone in the long term. I do not believe he possess the attention span.”

It was the closest to an insult Charity had given. Philip wanted to tell her, _you’re wrong_. But really, how would he know? He didn’t presume to know Phineas better than the woman who had shared a lifetime with him. Instead, he said nothing, and carried on up the stairs. He heard Charity calling to the girls beneath him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go. It took me a little while to get here, and I got derailed in the middle, but finally, part three! And the conclusion of that eventual smut tag ;)  
> Warning: This chapter is very much NSFW. I've upped the rating because of reasons which will quickly become apparent. This is probably the most explicit thing I have ever written.

In the times he had visited before, Philip had never been upstairs in the Barnums’ house. He found himself on the landing, with absolutely no idea which room to find Phineas in. He hardly wanted to start opening doors at random. That felt too much like an intrusion, even when he had been invited in. He glanced down the corridor.

To one end, he could see two doors opposite one another, with H and C carved ornately into them respectively. At least that ruled two doors out, and Philip was relieved. To have found himself in Caroline’s or Helen’s room would have felt especially out of place. Instead he turned to the right and began to walk along. He stopped only when he reached a half open door. His heart pounded in his chest like a live creature trying to escape. He pushed open the door hesitantly and found himself in what was clearly the master bedroom.

The large bed was immaculately made, pillows arranged neatly and the corners of the sheets tucked under. The dressing table was laid out with similar precision. Perfume bottles and make up jars were arranged by size, a hair brush lying beside a hand mirror. A pale blue dressing gown hung over the back of a chair. This was clearly Charity’s domain now, and there was no sign of Barnum at all. Not the man himself or in any personal object in the room apart from a family photograph on the bedside table. Philip was glad. Whatever was about to take place between himself and Phineas, he didn’t want it to happen here, where Charity was visible in every corner. It would have made him feel even more like a thief in a house he had already been invited into.

He carried on down the hallway. Opening a few other doors he found the study, a sitting room, and still no sign of Barnum. He was at the back of the house, was just about to call out the showman’s name and wondering why he hadn’t done so earlier when he heard a sound from behind a door to his left. It wasn’t speech, was barely more than a sigh of breath, but it was undoubtedly Barnum. Philip’s pulse was climbing steadily again. He took a deep breath, placed one hand on the door and pushed it open.

It was a world apart from the master bedroom which now belonged to Charity alone. It wasn’t dirty or unclean, but there was a distinct air of the haphazard about everything. The bed sheets were crumpled, pulled up clumsily. One pillow was lying halfway across the room. A small collection of clothing, including the ringmaster’s coat, was draped over a chair at a desk strewn with paper. Philip smiled to himself. The room really did suit Phineas.

Phineas himself was standing on the other side of the room. He had his back to Philip, apparently engrossed by something he was watching out of the window. He didn’t even seem to be aware of Philip’s presence until he shut the door behind him. Then Phineas turned with a sigh.

“Charity,” he said, “I-” he cut off abruptly as he faced Philip, seeing exactly who was visiting him. Philip waved his fingers at him.

“Not Charity,” he said, for lack of anything better to say.

“No. No I can see that,” said Barnum, stiltedly. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Philip shrugged. “I rang the bell. Charity let me in.”

“Oh. Of course she did. I just didn’t hear.” For a moment a genuine smile passed over Barnum’s face and he started to move towards Philip but stopped himself. He even took a small step further away. “Sorry,” he said, for no apparent reason. The smile was gone and he didn’t look overly thrilled to see Philip. Resigned maybe. "If you wish to hit me, I will not fight you on it."

Philip blinked at Barnum, not comprehending. "Why would I wish to hit you?"

Barnum was looking at Philip, not with desire or want, not even with the disgust Philip had been anticipating. He was looking at Philip with sadness, barely meeting Philip's gaze with what could only be described as shame. This was not at all how Philip had wanted this conversation to go. "It is what most men would do in this situation, I think," said Barnum. He held his hands out to the side. "As I said, I will not stop you." After a beat or two passed without Philip moving, Phineas went on. "In fact, I think most men would have called for the police by now. Although I suspect you haven't done so out of some urge to protect Charity and the girls, for which I thank you."

"Why on earth," asked Philip, feeling as though he was missing the point entirely, "would I call the police?" 

Barnum blinked at him, then sighed deeply. "Do you really want me to say it?" 

"Say what? I came to talk to you, not to fight you. What are you talking about?”

“Philip,” Barnum said, his voice thick. “Surely you know what I did was wrong. I... I assaulted you.”

Philip stared incredulously at Barnum. He started to laugh before realising there was no joke to be had. “You did not,” he said instead, firmly.

“I did,” Phineas insisted. “I forced that kiss, forced myself upon you. It was no better than when Jenny Lind kissed me on stage that night. It was worse. It was wrong of me. I am sorry.”

Philip huffed out a breath of air. “You did not force that kiss on me. There was no force to it. If I hadn’t wanted it, do you really think I couldn’t have... pushed you away? Said no?”

“You were in shock. Just because you did not say no, it... it does not mean that you wanted it.”

“But I did!” Philip half yelled. This conversation was going wildly off course and they’d barely even begun. He gave himself a moment to calm down before continuing.  “Phineas,” he said, slowly and clearly, so there could be no mistaking his words. “I wanted that kiss. I wanted it more than I have wanted any other thing in my whole life.”

Phineas took another step backwards. He still looked unsure. “You... You did?”

“Yes!” Philip ran one hand through his hair. He didn’t know how he could make this any clearer without kissing Phineas again and he didn’t think that would be the best course of action. “That is what I just said. I wanted it. I wanted you. I still do. You didn’t _assault_ me. What you did was make me happy, for those few seconds. Then you stopped-”

“Because I realised what I was doing-”

“And you left-”

“Because I thought I had done a terrible thing to you-”

“And you hide yourself away from me for a week until I have to come searching.”

“Because I thought you would most likely never want to see me again. I wasn’t going to trouble you any further. I was going to let you have the circus.”

Philip did laugh this time, just briefly. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about locked away here for a week? Giving up the circus because you thought that’s what I’d want?”

“Well...yes.”

“You are a fool,” Philip sighed.

“Clearly so.” The way Phineas was suddenly looking at Philip sent heat pooling into his stomach. He looked so tentative, so hopeful. It was as though some nervous stranger had taken over the normally confident man’s face. Then his eyes crinkled into a familiar smile and he started to move towards Philip.

Philip raised both hands to still him. He knew that if Phineas touched him now, he wouldn’t be able to resist. They never would get to talking and there were things Philip needed to say. “I have two questions,” he said, knowing he had Phineas’ full attention. Phineas nodded, his expression falling into concern once more.

Philip started before he could let doubt get the better of him “One,” he said, taking a single step forward.  “You and Charity. I’ve spoken to her but I need to hear it from you too. How is this going to work? I fail to believe that you can spend so many years married to someone, could father children with her, and not feel for her.”

“I do feel for her,” Barnum insisted. Philip was alarmed to see tears in the showman’s eyes. He nearly broke then, nearly went to embrace Barnum and damn the rest of the conversation. He rocked on the balls of his feet in an effort to not move further. “I love her with all my heart. I spent a lifetime dedicating myself to her and to our life together. I treasure these years we have been together and I treasure her. She is my sweetest, closest friend. For so long I told myself that was enough. But everything I said to you before is true. I do not desire her as I should. I do not love her as I should love my wife.” He broke off and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes momentarily. He moved them away again, wiping back tears. “Admitting that our marriage could go on no more nearly broke me. Leaving her properly, living separate lives, that would destroy us both. Please don’t ask it of me.”

 “I wouldn’t,” Philip half whispered. “You know I would never ask you to give her up.” He swallowed his own emotion. “Two?” he asked and waited until Phineas nodded before taking a second step forward. “Me. What do you feel about me?”

Phineas stared. He licked his lips and said nothing.

“I need to know,” Philip insisted. “What do you wish this to be between us? Is it a... a fling? A passion that will burn itself out?” He was sounding like Charity. It was more or less what she had said, but it was not her who had put the thought into Philip’s head. “I need to know,” he repeated. “If that is how you feel then I’m not saying it’s a no but... I don’t want to get hurt. And I could. I don’t want to fall if you’re not going to be there to catch me.”

“Oh Philip,” said Phineas, his voice a low, rumbling murmur. “I don’t think you’re ever going to burn out for me.” Philip’s pulse fluttered. His breath turned a summersault in his lungs and caught there. Phineas began to walk towards him and this time Philip did not stop him. “I said that I loved another and I meant it. As much as every part of my heart loves Charity as a friend, I believe it loves you deeper. I know that I should not. I know that we have perhaps not known each other long enough, I know that I am years older, that we are both men and should have no want for each other at all. But I do.” He stepped closer, sniffed back fresh tears. Philip moved forward too, mirroring the older man’s movements as Phineas continued to speak. “I love you, Philip Carlyle. I desire you, and I love you, and I will always, always be there to catch you.”

Philip could resist no longer. This time, it was him who closed the gap between them. He rested shaking hands on Phineas’ shoulders and leant up to draw him into a kiss.

It was as soft as their first, as hesitant. Phineas placed one hand on the back of Philip’s neck, as he had done before, the other arm going around the younger man’s waist. Philip moved his hands to cup Barnum’s face and could feel the dampness there. Philip knew that he was probably crying into the kiss too. They pulled back just far enough to rest their foreheads together, their noses brushing. Philip wiped at Phineas’ cheek. Phineas brushed away one of Philip’s own tears with his thumb. They both laughed, softly, sharing each other’s air. From somewhere very far away, a door slammed.

Distant though it was, Philip and Phineas still moved back at the sound. Phineas twisted round and stumbled his way over to the window, Philip following in his wake.

The room looked out over the back of the house, the garden stretching away towards the sea. Below them, three figures were making their way out of the house. Charity and the girls were wrapped up in their coats, the girls running ahead of their mother, tugging at her hands to get her to hurry. Philip could just make out their distant laughter. Charity gave in and broke into a run, chasing Caroline and Helen as they called out delightedly. Whether deliberate or not, she never once looked back at the house, at the window where the two men watched.

Phineas moved to stand behind Philip, wrapping his arms around him from the back. “Whole house to ourselves,” he mumbled against Philip’s ear. “Whatever are we going to do to entertain ourselves now?”

“I have a few ideas,” Philip answered. Then he turned in Phineas’ embrace and all but flung himself at the other man.

Philip knew that this was probably too sudden, too soon, but it was as though invisible cords had been pulling him away from Barnum. Now those cords were cut and the momentum of that alone was enough to drive them together.

This, at last, was how Philip had pictured kissing Barnum to be. The other man was gripping at his clothes, gripping at him. When Philip gasped into the kiss this time Phineas took it only as invitation to run his tongue over parted lips and then inside Philip’s mouth. Philip moaned softly, moaned louder as Phineas pulled him closer, deepened the kiss further. After long, aching moments Phineas broke the kiss, chuckling at Philip’s whine and the way he moved forwards, trying to chase after the older man’s lips. He stopped resisting when he realised Phineas had moved them apart only enough to reach between them and start to pull at the fastenings of Philip’s coat.

“Is this okay?” he asked, between slipping buttons undone. “If this is too much, too quickly then-”

“Barnum,” Philip growled against Phineas’ mouth, “if you don’t get this damn coat off of me...”

He didn’t have to think up a suitable end to that sentence. Phineas tugged the last button free of its hole and with a few sharp tugs had the coat off and flung aside, neither man caring where it landed. Then Phineas was back to kissing Philip, biting at his lips and allowing Philip to reciprocate. He ran one hand down Philip’s back, over the swell of his ass. A high, keening mewl left Philip as Phineas squeezed a handful of flesh through his trousers.

Phineas chuckled darkly. “Like that do you, Philip?”

Philip nodded fervently, unable to speak but hoping it would encourage Barnum to do it again. He was acting like a whore – desperate and needy – but he found little effort to care about this. Phineas groped his ass again and Philip pressed himself forward against the showman’s body. He was surprised but by no means disappointed when Phineas moved lower to grip at his thigh and lifted, encouraging Philip to wrap his leg around the taller man’s waist. Philip didn’t need much prompting. He shifted their bodies as close as they could go and tightened his hold on the showman, allowing himself to be picked up fully. His legs fitted around Barnum’s waist as though they had been made to rest there. And Barnum was strong, solid muscles in his arms from years spent on the railroads, from hauling circus sets around. He held Philip easily.

They paused like that, eyes locked, each drinking in the details of arousal on the other’s face. Phineas’ hair was in disarray. This was not particularly unusual for him – Philip had always been the one with not a hair out of place – but there was a certain quality to it at the moment, dishevelled in a way it never had been before, which left Philip longing to run his fingers through it again. The older man’s lips were red and swollen. Philip could only imagine he looked more or less the same and it was evidently a pleasing sight. Phineas was eyeing Philip as though he might devour him.

 Philip wanted to be kept like this always, safe in Barnum’s arms and looked at as if he was revered above all else.

Testing, teasingly, Philip ran the nail of his index finger in a long line from behind Barnum’s ear to the collar of his shirt. The faintest of pink trails was left behind on Barnum’s throat and Philip could feel his low hum of pleasure beneath his fingertip.

Philip yelped, startled, as the moment ended, Phineas crashing their lips together once more. He walked slowly, carrying Philip until the younger man’s back hit the wall. Phineas pinned him there and broke their most recent kiss to lead little nips over Philip’s jaw, down his throat. Fingers scrabbled at Philip’s collar, pulling it aside and ripping his shirt so that Barnum could get a proper angle on his neck.

“Mmm,” Phineas sighed contentedly against his skin. He must not have shaved in a few days; Philip could feel the faint scratch of stubble. “This neck, Philip. It’s gorgeous. Why’ve you been hiding it from me, hm?” He licked a hot stripe along the exposed flesh, making the younger man squirm against him. “It’s going to look so much prettier once I’ve marked it.”

He proceeded to do just that. He bit down and sucked and licked. Philip was quite glad that his feet were already off of the floor. He felt sure his knees would have given way by now. With that worry taken care of, he gave himself over to Barnum completely.

Philip found he did not mind being manhandled in this way. Barnum had located a sensitive spot on his neck and was working on it slowly, without any hurry. It felt wonderful. Philip tilted his head back until it hit the wall with a soft thud. Barnum just laughed and planted more kisses, more bites, at the join of his shoulder. Philip wasn’t just going to be marked; he was going to be _bruised_. He did not care one bit. Barnum’s hold on him was the only thing grounding him back to reality. He could feel himself growing hard, his trousers now uncomfortably tight. When he bucked forwards with his hips experimentally, he could feel Barnum’s own obvious arousal. The thought made him groan.

Bracing Philip against the wall and holding him there with mostly just one arm, Phineas yanked Philip’s shirt free from his waist band. “Still okay?” he gasped breathlessly against Philip’s skin. “If you want me to stop, you’ll say?”

“Stop?” whimpered Philip, voice and body as weak as each other. “I want you to get. The hell. On with it.” He ground against Barnum again and this time they moaned in synch.

“Have it your way,” Barnum muttered. He slipped one hand under the back of Philip’s shirt and dragged sharp nails across the skin there. He counteracted the long burn with tender kisses to Philip’s lips, his cheeks, his neck.

Philip was unable to speak once more, unable to say even the other man’s name. He made up for it by tightening his legs around Barnum’s waist, drawing them ever closer, and grinding the evidence of his pleasure against the other man’s body. His own hands made small, scrabbling movements at Barnum’s back, trying to gain purchase against his clothing. He changed his grip. One arm stayed around Phineas’ neck. The other twined downwards, as far as Philip could reach, to grab a handful of Phineas’ ass at the same time as he bit lightly at the older man’s bottom lip. Phineas jolted against him.

Philip smirked, managed to pant in a taunting echo of the showman’s earlier words, “Like that?”

“More than like it,” Barnum snarled. “You’re filthy, Mr Carlyle. Anyone ever told you that?”

Philip just nodded. Let Barnum wonder. Let him wonder who had called Philip that, where he had learned to act so depraved and at the same time know that Philip had never been so close to anyone before.

Philip let out an undignified squawk as Barnum turned abruptly, carrying Philip to the bed. He half dropped, half threw him onto the mattress and Philip bounced with the movement. He knew how he must have looked to Phineas. Shirt ripped half open, eyes glassy with lust. His mouth was partly open as he gasped, trying to find air or words, or the other man’s mouth. Phineas obliged, climbing on top of Philip to kiss him. He lifted up high enough to get his hands between them and unbuckle Philip’s belt. Philip scrambled to help, to pull it free of the belt loops and then to guide Barnum’s hands to his cock, so hard and prominent now against the confines of his trouser.

Barnum, bastard that he is, moved off of Philip.

“What the fuck?” Philip groaned, head falling back against the pillows.

“Filthy mouth too,” Phineas commented approvingly. “This is going to be fun.” He stepped back away from the bed. “You just stay there and look pretty, beautiful. I’ll be right back.”

“Phineas!” Philip yelled after him. But he’d gone. He left the door ajar so that Philip could hear him, know he was only in the next room. He was still a bastard.

Philip decided to make the most of his moment alone. He started by kicking off his shoes and socks, then removing his shirt fully. He tossed it to join his belt and his jacket on the floor. He was just starting to unbutton his trousers too when Phineas returned. He was barefoot and his shirt was undone now, hanging from broad shoulders and framing the muscles in his chest. Philip stared without meaning to as Phineas prowled towards the bed. He was eying Philip’s face like an animal, like a predator. He placed something he was holding in one fist down on the bedside table before climbing onto the bed. He swung one leg over, straddling Philip’s waist. Then his gaze dropped to Philip’s chest and his feral smile faltered.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh Philip.” He looked suddenly achingly sad.

Philip’s mouth ran dry. He knew his torso was a mess since the fire. Small scars, and some not so small, littered his chest and stomach, the tops of his arms. Healed burns glistened in the light. He had been lucky that all the marks could be hidden beneath his clothes. The only scar on his face was faint and so high up it was nearly concealed by his hairline. You could only see it was there if you knew to look for it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing in embarrassment. “I know they’re ugly. I can put my shirt back on.” He started to sit up only for Barnum to push him back down.

“No,” said Barnum, firmly. “That is not what I want. These scars... they remind me of how close I came to losing you, back before I ever dared believe we could have this.” He gestured between the two of them. “I could have lost you then. Would never have had a chance to tell you. It breaks my heart to think about that. But these scars are not ugly, Philip. They show how amazing you are. How brave. You ran into a burning building to save Anne.”

“Then you ran in to save me.”

“Of course I did. I’d do it again. In a heartbeat.” Phineas eyed Philip’s chest, no longer with sadness, but with an assessing gaze. An artist looking at a fresh canvas, a butcher eyeing a slab of meat. Philip felt carved by that gaze, cut into pieces so small he could be carried around by Barnum at all times. It was an exhilarating, wonderful feeling. “Do any of these marks still cause you pain? I wish to touch you but I have no desire to hurt you.”

Philip shook his head. “They don’t hurt. Touch away.” He reached up, looping his hands behind Phineas’ neck and drawing him down. It was all the invitation Phineas needed.

Phineas started more or less where he’d left off. He nuzzled at Philip’s neck, licking at the dark bruise forming there. Philip shuddered at the contact and writhed, hoping to coax Phineas lower.

“So needy,” Phineas whispered against him.

“Been waiting... a long time,” Philip replied in ragged gasps. Part of Philip felt he had always been waiting for this. Waiting for Phineas.

At last Phineas began to move. He placed gentle, open mouthed kisses on Philip’s skin, down over his chest to his right nipple. Phineas’ tongue flickered out of his mouth, licking at the raised flesh. Philip’s breath stuttered. His body went momentarily rigid and Phineas didn’t give him time to recover before brushing the knuckles of one hand over Philip’s left nipple, repeating the action with his tongue on the right. Philip squirmed.

Most of the women Philip had slept with had enjoyed him playing with their breasts. He prided himself on how he could make them shriek and writhe with just his hands and his mouth and that was before moving any lower.  He could have them so distracted they would not even notice that he was never that aroused himself. Now Philip was starting to see what all the fuss was about. Because Barnum was _clever_. He was _good_ at this. He knew just the right amount of pressure to apply with his fingers, just the faintest hint of teeth when he sucked. Philip’s body jerked without him meaning to, his hands twisted into the sheets to form small anchors lest he drift away completely.

Phineas smirked up at him. “It’s surprising, is it not? How responsive you are to this.” He palmed at Philip’s right nipple and the firm pectoral beneath it. “I bet you never imagined this could feel so good.”

“Fuck, Barnum,” Philip moaned. He clamped his mouth shut with a whimper as Phineas began to pinch, lightly at first but growing firmer until he was just at the high edge between pleasure and pain. He tangled his legs with Phineas’.

“That’s it,” murmured Phineas. “Good boy.”

Just as Philip thought he could take no more, Phineas ceased his ministrations. He stopped, waited for Philip to catch his breath, and then waited a little longer. Philip glanced down at him and felt his heart leap. Phineas’ gaze was transfixed on Philip’s face. He was no longer eyeing Philip as a dog would fresh meat. He was looking at him tenderly, adoringly. No one had looked at Philip like that before.

“Feeling good, Philip?”

“Definitely. Definitely feeling really good.”

“Glad to hear it.” Then Phineas grinned at him, all teeth. “But I think I can do better than just ‘good’.”

He lowered himself, shifting down the bed so that he was at eye level with Philip’s stomach. He landed butterfly kisses near Philip’s navel, watching the way his skin twitched involuntarily. He found a particular burn mark on the inside of Philip’s hip, low down.  It was probably the biggest mark of all, the end of it hidden by Philip’s waist band. He ran his tongue over the scar tissue. Philip let out a wordless exclamation and bucked up against him.

“Did that hurt?” Phineas was quick to ask.

“No. Just... sensitive. Always been sensitive there.”

Phineas grinned like a demon and repeated the action. Forewarned this time he held Philip in place with a hand on each hip to pin him to the bed. He worked over the tender area as he had on Philip’s neck. He never bit at Philip’s scars, wouldn’t dare, but he could lick. He could suck flesh into his mouth and suckle at it. Philip was so distracted he barely even registered Phineas hooking his hands into Philip’s belt loops. He felt the slow drag of his trousers being lowered, his pants being taken with them, and raised himself up enough for them to be removed completely.

There was something gloriously perverse about being so utterly exposed, while Phineas remained almost fully clothed. The rough texture of his trousers against Philip’s legs only added to the stimulation he was experiencing. It was almost a disappointment when the older man sat up enough to remove his shirt. Almost.

“Still okay with this, Philip?” Phineas asked again as he settled back between Philip’s legs. He caressed his fingers through the fine hair on Philip’s upper things as he pushed the younger man’s legs further apart. He was losing his confident tone now, voice becoming torn with excitement and quick pants for air.

“How about,” Philip suggested, “from now on, we just assume I am okay with everything? Until I say otherwise?”

“I don’t think it really works like that, Philip.” But then Phineas lowered his head and kissed the tip of Philip’s erect cock. He sucked the head into his mouth just fractionally.

Philip’s cry felt ripped from his very core. His hips jerked and his legs flailed. Phineas removed his mouth from Philip’s cock with a wet, slurping sound that put shivers down Philip’s spine.

“Good, sweetheart,” Phineas praised. “You keep making those sounds. There’s no one around to hear apart from me.” He nuzzled at the fold of skin where Philip’s leg joined with his body, his nose brushing dark hair. Philip shuddered again. “But how about you keep those lovely legs still this time? I don’t particularly want to get kicked in the head at the moment.”

Philip nodded fervently. He was prepared to do anything if it meant Phineas did that again. He watched, eyes wide and drinking in the sight, as Barnum unfastened his own trousers and worked his way out of them in quick, graceful movements.

Bracing one hand on Philip’s knee, Phineas turned his attention to Philip’s cock once more. He started slowly, running his lips over Philip’s shaft, swirling his tongue around the tip. The hand on Philip’s knee began to stroke up and down his thigh, nails scoring faint marks. But that was quite overshadowed when, without warning, Phineas moved his hand between Philip’s legs to touch his cock and cup at his balls. Phineas fondled at him. Kissed him. Drove him wild with his tongue and lips and fingers. 

Only when Philip was pushed to the edge, felt ready to scream or beg or perhaps actually kick Phineas, did the older man take him into his mouth again and begin to move. Philip did not hold back his cry. It was a good thing, a very good thing that they were alone in the house. He was sure his voice filled the building. He could feel Phineas smirk around his length as his lips slid up and down.  He moved the hand which had been stroking at Philip’s balls to wrap around the base of his shaft, his lips and his fingers meeting with every bob of his head. There was movement between them and Philip looked down blearily to where Phineas was now slipping his free hand inside his own pants, the movement of his wrist in steady jerks unmistakable.

Without any doubt, Phineas had done this before. No one could be this skilled first time around. Philip’s mind raced with possibilities. Phineas growing up on the streets, working on the railroad surrounded by men, all of those years when Charity was just a distant, untouchable star for Phineas to orbit; when had he done this? When had he learnt to use his mouth, not just to charm, to flatter, but to pleasure another man like this?

Trembling, Philip raised his legs and wrapped them around Phineas’ body. The older man hummed his approval, the vibration another sensation to overwhelm the man beneath him. Saliva crept from the corners of Phineas’ mouth and dripped wet against Philip’s skin.  

Philip felt weak. Twisting his hands into the bed sheets was no longer enough. He needed something to hold on to. Shaking, half expecting to be knocked back at any moment, Philip raised his hands to stroke at Barnum’s hair.

Noticing his hesitance, Phineas did pull back but only long enough to whisper, “It’s okay, Philip. I don’t mind.” Then he lowered himself back to his task, back to Philip’s cock. Philip took him at his word and buried his hands in thick dark hair, allowing Phineas to keep moving – God please, keep moving – but keeping him close all the same. It reassured Philip, that firm, sure contact.

Philip had never thought of himself as being a particularly vocal lover. He wasn’t silent by any means, but he’d always thought it would be vaguely embarrassing to yell, to scream. Perhaps it was some left over remnant of his upbringing; a lingering sense to uphold decorum in all things. But then, Philip had never lain with P.T. Barnum before.  Philip felt sure his tongue would have to be cut out before he could keep quiet while Phineas continued to do these things to him. He shouted, he cried out, tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes. He was getting close. Pre-cum was leaking from the head of his cock and he could feel his balls tightening as his orgasm built. He did not know if he should say something, if he should tell Phineas to give him warning or if this was what Phineas wanted.

He was beyond words. Beyond sense. All he could do was tighten his fingers in the older man’s hair and hope that got the message across. It did, but not to the desired effect.

“You’re stopping?” Philip almost sobbed. Phineas was indeed stopping, Philip’s cock leaving his mouth wetly and still achingly hard.

He knelt between Philip’s legs and murmured, almost apologetically, “I know. But this is only for a moment. If you want me to, I will continue as we have been and give you your release with my mouth alone. Or...” he trailed off, his grin showing that he knew what a complete tease he was being.

“Or?”  Philip asked, ominous anticipation pooling with desire in his stomach.

“Or I can get a little more creative. I have something I wish to try with you, but I will not if you prefer otherwise.”

Philip growled with frustration. He knew the man was prone to the dramatic, but he could not help but feel this wasn’t the time. “Either tell me what you want to do to me, Barnum, or make me come.”

“Very well,” said Phineas, evenly. He moved to loom over Philip, arms braced to bracket either side of Philip’s head. Phineas’ cock, still half restrained by his pants, brushed against Philip’s and Philip groaned at the contact. Phineas made sure to not press himself any firmer against the young man as he lowered his lips to Philip’s ear. “I want to fuck you open. I want you to come with my fingers deep inside of you.”

For a moment, Philip thought he might come from those words alone. Then he surged upwards, crashing their lips together. Their teeth clashed, Philip clumsy in his haste. Then he flopped back down, making his body as free for Barnum to work on as possible. “Yes. That. I’ll choose that, please. Nothing could sound better.”

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” The words twisted around Philip’s brain, delicious and arousing. To be objectified like this was a humiliation he did not mind.

Barnum dropped a small, chaste kiss to Phillip’s mouth and got to his feet. Philip whined. He missed the heat of the body above him, missed staring into Barnum’s eyes. But then the sight in front of him grew even more appealing.  Philip propped himself up on his elbows to watch as Barnum shed the last vestiges of his clothing.

He tried to absorb every detail of the man’s body and commit it to memory. If this opportunity never came again, Philip wanted to be able to recall this image. Phineas was standing in front of him, completely naked. The sunlight caught the sweat beading on his skin and glistened. The muscles Philip had so admired before when they were being used to hold him, to position and push and pull at him, were now on full display. A dark trail of hair lead from Barnum’s naval, enticing Philip to follow it with his gaze, down to where it thickened and spread to surround the other man’s cock. That was another matter entirely. Phineas stroked himself once, twice, lazily, just to give Philip something to look at. He was _big_ , Philip realised. His cock was larger than Philip’s. Larger than Philip had been expecting. Philip’s hands twitched towards his own neglected erection.

“Don’t,” Phineas ordered. He stopped touching himself and gave Philip a dark, warning glare.  That glare and the deep command were enough to still Philip’s motions instantly.

Philip watched the way muscles and tendons flexed and relaxed with Phineas’ movements. Taught thighs and calves as he walked to the bedside table, powerful arms and long dexterous fingers as he retrieved the small jar he had placed there earlier. Philip opened his mouth to ask what it was but then his world was filled with Barnum again. Nothing but Barnum. Barnum’s body as he crawled across the mattress back to Philip. Barnum’s face as he smirked down at him. Barnum’s hands as he spread Philip’s legs and lifted them, bending them back towards Philip’s body.

“Think you can keep yourself like this, Philip?”

Philip nodded and hooked quivering hands around his own thighs. It was depraved, to hold himself in this position, to keep his legs up and open. He was becoming a harlot under Barnum’s instructions. But this meant Barnum was free to remove the lid from the jar and to coat his own fingers generously in the thick oil from within. It dripped in rivulets down Phineas’ palm and he chased it with his tongue as it reached his wrist.

“It may not taste sweet,” he assessed with the faintest hint of a grimace, “but it serves a far sweeter purpose.”

Gaze locked with Philip’s, watching his every reaction, Phineas reached down and ran damp fingers over Philip’s ass cheeks and along the cleft between them. Even though he was expecting it, when one slick digit pressed against his hole, Philip jumped. His entire body tensed and his eyes screwed shut in anticipation of pain. 

Barnum shushed him softly. “It’s all right, Philip. Remember what I said before, about not hurting you?” Philip nodded, his eyes still shut tight. “I meant it. I’m not going to do anything that hurts you. If it does, if it gets too much, I want you to tell me.”  The hand not between Philip’s legs petted at the side of his face, Barnum continuing to make gentle, soothing noises until Philip finally opened his eyes again. “There we go. Can you keep looking at me? Eyes on me. I want to see your reaction. Ready?”

Only when Philip nodded did Phineas press forwards. The oil coated finger eased into Philip and his body began to tense again at the intrusion. It was with Phineas’ gentle words and encouragements that he managed to relax and found that it did not hurt how he thought it would. It was a strange sensation, but not an especially painful one.

“Good boy,” Phineas purred.  “My beautiful boy. Can you talk to me? How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Philip panted. “It’s fine. Feels okay.”

The corner of Phineas’ mouth twitched. “It’s going to feel more than okay if I do this right.” He moved his wrist, pushing the finger in further then pulling out nearly completely. “I think you’re ready for another.”

The press of a second finger at his entrance and this time Philip didn’t tense up. He kept himself pliant and relaxed as the intrusion inside of him doubled. He could feel the burn, the pressure, more now but still nothing he would describe as pain. Phineas gave him a moment to settle, to grow accustomed to it before moving his fingers again. In and out, in and out.  He worked them in up to the knuckle. Spreading, stretching Philip. Barnum felt inside of him. Philip’s breath was coming in quick little gasps and he was starting to squirm, to push back with each thrust of Phineas’ hand.

“Oh, you’re so perfect for me,” Phineas mumbled, adding a deft little twist of his wrist. Philip yelled and swore. “Ooh, listen to that sound. You’re wonderful, Philip, perfect. ‘m so glad I can do this to you, glad I can make you feel like this. But it’s going to feel so much better in a minute. In fact...” Then he did... something with his fingers inside of Philip. Stroked, or probed or something, against some secret, hidden part of him and white hot pleasure ripped through Philip’s core. He was not sure if he screamed again, or if this time his ecstasy went beyond that.

He came back to himself a moment later, blinking dazedly up at Barnum. “W-What was _that_?” he slurred, coherence a distant memory.

“That is how I’m going to make you come,” Barnum informed him. “I’m not going to fuck you properly. Not yet. Not ever if you don’t want it, but I think you can take it. I think you’ll love it, in fact. But for now...” Then he set to work in earnest. He thrust his fingers at a quick, steady pace. He only paused to pour more oil over hand before carrying on, a third finger now being added. Philip hissed at the new stretch but Phineas kissed him, swallowing his sounds, and Philip bucked his hips. He pushed back invitingly once more. Phineas at last slotted their bodies together, their erections pressing against each other. He wrapped his free hand around both of their cocks and stroked them in time with each thrust. The tears which had been gathering began to fall, trailing down Philip’s face and into his hair. Phineas bowed his head to lick at the salty trails they left behind.  

It did not take long. A few more strokes against that sweet, special spot inside of him and Philip came with Phineas’ name on his lips. He released his seed, more than he ever had before he was sure of it. It spread over Barnum’s hand, coated both their stomachs. Barnum didn’t stop straight away, he kept his movements steady, milking Philip for every last drop. When he did remove his fingers, Philip felt his muscles contract emptily.

“Yeeesss...”Phineas hissed, releasing Philip’s cock to run his hand through his come instead. He spread it over Philip’s chest, flicking at his nipples once more. Philip whimpered wordlessly.

 “Gi’ me your hand,” Phineas grunted, grabbing Philip’s wrist. Philip let his legs fall back to the bed and allowed Phineas to pull his hand to the showman’s still firm, waiting erection. He wrapped Philip’s hand around it, guiding him with his own touch. “Feel that?” he rasped. “Feel how much bigger it is than my fingers?” Philip nodded, grinding his heels into the mattress beneath him. “Imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.”

“ ‘s too big. Won’t fit.”

“It will.” Barnum’s voice was full of dark promise. He led Philip’s touch, moving Philip’s hand along his cock. “I just need to keep working you. Keep stretching you.” He grunted harshly, getting close to his own climax. It was too soon for Philip to become properly aroused again but his cock twitched at the older man’s words. The idea thrilled him and scared him in almost equal measure. He found the initiative to squeeze his grip just a little tighter, ran his thumb over the head of Barnum’s cock. It was not long before Phineas was following to where Philip had already gone. He came with Philip’s hand and his linked around his shaft.

For a moment he held himself there, propped up on one arm, before gently lowering himself down to lie on top of Philip. Wracked with the aftershocks of his orgasm, the older man’s power and control had all but left him. Tremulously, Philip wrapped his limbs around him in response. Philip felt close to crying properly now and he shook with the effort to contain it. Feeling the way he shivered, Phineas gathered Philip to him and held him. He did nothing but hold him, and whisper to him, and call him ‘perfect’, and ‘special’, and ‘mine’, over and over again.

* * *

It was some time later. Philip was vague about time. He knew that the day had been slipping away around them but how long exactly was beyond him. The sun may have been getting lower outside but they still had not heard Charity and the girls return. They still had the house to themselves. Philip would have been content to lay there for days, wrapped in Barnum’s arms. The other man kept kissing him, caressing him. Every so often Philip would find himself pulled into a deeper, more passionate kiss, and he did his best to meet them. He was slowly uncovering the secrets of the other man. He found sensitive areas of Phineas’ skin, the man’s own scars, long ago healed and almost forgotten.

They were sitting up together. Phineas was leaning against the headboard, Philip resting against his chest.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Philip, lacing the fingers of both their hands together.

“Oh? If this is you saying you’re not actually that attracted to me, I think that ship has sailed.”

Philip dug his elbows back into Phineas’ midriff as the other man chuckled. “I’ve been thinking,” he started again, “about the show.”

“Do tell.” Phineas was rubbing his nose against the edge of Philip’s ear.

“I know you’re not going to be there every night. You still need to be here for your family.” Phineas made a soft noise of agreement. “But on the nights when you are there... why does it have to be just one of us on stage? Why not both of us? Two ringmasters moving as one... or something like that.” 

Philip wondered if this was pushing a barrier. There was nothing overt in what he was suggesting. Two men performing side by side would leave nothing for even the most prying audience member to suspect. But they would be in close quarters, working together in ways they never had before. Perhaps Phineas would prefer to keep whatever this was, firmly behind closed, locked doors.

Philip yelped as Phineas suddenly grabbed and flipped him, so that that they were lying face to face.

“That,” declared Phineas as he kissed Philip and still held his hands out of the way, “sounds like one of your best ideas.”

Heat of pleasure at the praise rose in Philip’s face. He moistened his lips and tried to affect a casual smirk. “Well then, circus king.” He brushed his mouth over Phineas’ clavicle. “I guess we’d better get to work.”

* * *

They walked down to the beach together. Philip had to borrow a shirt from Phineas because his own was ripped enough to no longer be decent. He turned the collar up high to hide the rapidly darkening bruises on his neck and inhaled Barnum’s scent. As they walked, the two men discussed the potential for their new act. They bent close together, purportedly against the wind, but every few steps their hands would brush. Their lips would get close.

It was only when they reached the beach and found Charity, Caroline and Helen playing there that they stepped carefully apart. They hesitated, unsure of this new found territory, until Charity looked up. She raised one hand to shield her eyes against the bright winter sun. They were too far away to see her expression when she recognised them but her relaxed form, the way she waved them over, was unmistakable. Philip still hung back a little as Phineas went to his wife.

Phineas wrapped his arms around Charity and pulled her close in greeting and kissed her forehead. She leant against him, steadying herself.

Philip watched and he did not mind. He felt no stab of jealousy at the scene.  Phineas and Charity would always have these moments between them, even when there would never be anything more. They were each other’s best friends. They fitted together in ways no other people could. If Philip were to grudge either one of them, he would truly be an awful friend to both. An awful partner, if that was indeed what he was, to Phineas.

“Philip,” said Charity in greeting. The coolness from before had now melted almost entirely. She even managed a weak smile. “You both seem happier. Much happier.” Philip nodded. If Charity had an indication of precisely why they were both so much happier, she did not show it. “That’s good,” she said instead. “I am glad you have managed to settle things. I want to see you happy. Both of you.”

Philip looked away under her scrutiny and allowed himself to be accosted by the girls again. He made a staged production of being knocked to the ground as they barrelled into him. Phineas and Charity laughed as the girls dropped down onto him, squealing, knocking the air out of him.

“Hey, Caroline,” Philip called as he half wrestled with both of them. “Why don’t you show me what I missed at your last dance recital?”

“Here?” Caroline’s eyes scanned the beach, her desire to show off to Philip torn with her wish to not look foolish. “But it’ll look weird without the other girls.”

“Well you could always teach me and Helen.”

“Teach you?” her voice was little more than an excited squeak.

“Why not?”

So Philip allowed himself to be dragged to his feet, to spend the rest of the afternoon playing with the girls. Helen’s eagerness to copy her sister, Caroline’s laughter every time Philip pretended to not understand her instructions, built inside of him and kept him warm from the inside out.

* * *

The next day, Phineas and Philip returned to the circus. Philip had stayed the night at the Barnum household. He’d eaten dinner sat opposite Charity, just as he had on other occasions before, and only once did Phineas brush his fingertips against Philip’s thigh. It was still enough to make Philip go pink to his ears. Charity was busy in conversation about Caroline’s schoolwork at the time and missed the whole incident.

When the girls had gone to bed, Charity had followed them up the stairs to her own bedroom, her head held high. She did not ask where Philip would be spending the night. Philip had let Phineas guide him back to what was now his room. Their room, perhaps.

By the time they made it back to the city next morning, most of the cast were already at the big circus tent. Phineas called them all together before morning rehearsals could start, and told them their new idea. Philip’s new idea.

“Ah great,” said Charles with a sigh. “One ringmaster wasn’t bad enough. Now we’ve got to put up with both of you at the same time?” But he was grinning as he said it.

Lettie smiled and said it was, “A perfect idea. Excellent in fact. When did you come up with that?”

“Oh, it’s just a little idea we worked out together,” said Barnum, vaguely.

Philip looked around the rest of the cast. All of them seemed to be in agreement. Even W.D. nodded his silent approval. Anne was positively beaming at Philip in a way that told him she was going to want to know every little detail of how he and Barnum came up with this particular idea.

That Friday, they trialed the new format for the first time.

They moved around each other like shadows, like a mirror image. Chasing, running, never colliding. Only at the very end did Philip allow himself to be caught. Phineas held his cane against Philip’s body, trapping them together. It was dramatic, stage lit, the perfect finale move. It was only brief, held just long enough for them to soak in the audience’s applause. It was among the loudest they had received.

As they lined up to take their final bow, Philip searched the crowd. Charity was in the front row, on her feet with the other patrons around her. Her gaze met Philip’s and for a moment he was stuck. He didn’t know what to do, how to react. But then she smiled, a near imperceptible thing but there none the less. She looked more herself again, colour high in her cheeks as she applauded the show and nodded carefully to Philip. She may not ever be completely okay with this, but she was close. That was the best Philip could hope for.

Phineas and Philip were pressed together with the other performers on the stage. So close that touch was inevitable. And when the lights dimmed, Phineas reached for Philip’s hand in the darkness.

 

 

_It’s everything you ever want._

_It’s everything you ever need._

_And it’s here right in front of you._

_This is where you wanna be..._

_This is where you wanna be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express how thankful I am for each and every one of you for sticking with me on this fic. It's perhaps the work I am proudest of and to see it so well received is kind of magical. Any thoughts, comments, flailing about Barlyle or the film in general, please leave me a message.  
> Oh and if you haven't already checked out my other fic for this fandom, you could always do that too ;)


End file.
